APH UsUkUs The Wedding Series
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: First published on Deviant Art. Doujin made by WatcherAngel for this. Check it out if you like on DA under TheYaoiWonderTwins. US proposes to Uk and hilarity ensues. Hinting of PruCan and the UK Bros show up for the wedding with France. Need I say more? Chap 1-The Proposal Chap 2-The Engagement Chap 3- The Wedding
1. Chapter 1

APH UsUkUs The Proposal

Arthur woke up slowly, listening to the heavy quiet of his bedroom. Alfred was gone, leaving an almost palpable void behind in his absence.

Arthur reached a hand over, trailing pale fingers over cool sheets feeling them anyway even though he knew that the American's warmth would be long gone.

"Stupid git.", Arthur mumbled, sighing as he curled back up tightly into himself again. Alfred knew that he liked to be woken up to say goodbye before he left even though he would never admit it aloud to him. All things considered, he didn't even mind driving Alfred to the airport. A part of him even enjoyed it though their partings were usually sad and quite tense.

Showing his romantic Hollywood inspired side at the oddest of times, Alfred had let him sleep in and from the smell of it, he had even made breakfast. Bacon and eggs if the scent of severe butter over usage was any indication.

Arthur glared at the slivers of morning light that dared to piece through his pale curtains, reminding him that the day was being sorely wasted and he had things that needed to get done. He got up stiffly, grumbling to no one in particular as he made his way to the bathroom to start his morning, belated now thanks to American's daft concept of romance.

Arthur…..for lack of a better word…..felt…

…..off.

That was saying something considering how old he was. One got to know themselves quite thoroughly after a couple of millennia. Arthur glared at his reflection, the mirror image giving him nothing back of course. Nothing new as least. Same old messy hair, same old grumpy expression, same old scarred body, same old him.

Running his fingers through short spiky strands of pale gold, Arthur wandered back into his room to dress for the coming afternoon. Many nations were under the impression that Arthur was a morning person. Nothing could be further from the truth though. At his considerable age, deep-rooted habits had been so long established and ingrained into his being that Arthur could prepare for the entire day without really realizing it or even actually being awake for it. Which is why he sometimes came to drinking hot water instead of tea or would come to find out later that his sweater vest was on inside out and backwards.

Upon arriving in his kitchen, breakfast's existence was confirmed, eggs and bacon still toasty warm in the oven. Arthur found himself smiling despite his earlier annoyance at his boyfriend and the continual sense of foreboding that seemed to linger over his being. He pulled the hot plate out carefully with a well singed oven mitt(despite the fact they were supposed to be fire retardant).

Popping on the electric kettle, Arthur nibbled on crispy bacon waiting for the water to boil as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, his neatly trimmed nails tapping out a quick tempo….that sounded …..well…off. He had been waiting all morning for this strange feeling to dissipate. Arthur hoped that a solid cup of Earl Grey would help it along.

**tic, tap, tic, tic**

**tic, tap, tic, tic**

Arthur tilted his head, listening to his nails hit the glazed tile countertops. Even that sounded strange to him, his fingers….finger…..feeling oddly heavy.

Arthur woke up fully to focus on a rather large piece of jewelry on his left ring finger. It was a half inch band engraved with roses and oak leaves in a Celtic style, the intricate loopy technique wrought in warm rose gold and icy white gold. The design wrapped around a rather large and very perfect square cut emerald. Arthur wondered briefly how the hell he could have missed it. He really was going daft in his old age.

Arthur blinked in surprise at it, shaking his hand ineffectively. The ring remained stubbornly in place. Since it refused to disappear, Arthur gave it another good hard look. It was a real emerald. Arthur could tell that with just a glance, the fire of the gem heralding its authenticity. It was real gold too. The weight of it attested to that.

Puzzled at its existence and why it was on his finger of all places, Arthur let his mind wander. He actually rather liked jewelry, having worn quite a bit of it during his time at sea. The Victorian Age was another grand foray into the metallic genre. He still had some favored pieces knocking about somewhere. Arthur made a mental note to clean out his closets later on after this was all sorts….

…..But that was besides the point…..

This was the here and now…and it kinda….sorta…. looked like an engagement ring. It was certainly on the correct finger for it.

Arthur stared at it for another long moment, before the electric kettle told him it was time for tea. The morning beverage was brewed as various things were carefully considered. It was obviously a joke of course. An expensive joke, but still one none the less.

Arthur decided to take his tea in his parlor, sitting in his throne like Chesterfield. He studied his outstretched hand thoughtfully with heavy half lidded eyes, sipping at his steaming cup delicately. Arthur savored the drink, rolling it over his tongue as he made the light dance off of the green stone prettily, the emerald's hue a near match to his own eyes.

It had to be France. That snail sucker could never take "No!", "Fuck no!", or "Bloody Hell No!" for an answer. Arthur fished out his cell phone from his pocket, calling the notorious Frenchman.

"I don't know how you did it or when, but the answer is still and will forever be "NO!".", Arthur said in way of greeting.

"Angleterre…I know it iz five o'clock somewhere but don't you think it iz a little bit early to be drinking even for you?", Francis yawned, quite used to irritated Englishmen. That didn't mean he liked to deal with them first thing in the morning though. He had his beauty sleep to consider. He simply didn't do noon bright eyed and bushy tailed.

"I'm not drunk! The ring, you wine guzzling bastard! You are a right idiot for spending that much on something ridiculous like this. It would serve you right if I decided to keep it.", Arthur berated in a calm cool tone, like he was lecturing child and not an ancient nation older than even himself.

"What ring?", Francis yawned, beginning to lose interest. He considered hanging up. His bed was calling him back to its soft depths enticingly.

"Now who is drunk and senile? The bloody engagement ring that is on my finger!", Arthur snapped irritably, wanting Francis to fess up already so he could just get on with his day.

"And I am zayin I know nothing about an….wait….did you zay an engagement ring?!", Francis perked up considerably, waving off bed's call. He suddenly felt very awake and very interested.

"Mon Dieu! Engagement ring! When did Amerique propoze!? How!? Speak you ridiculous man, speak! I want ze detailz! Ze passion! L'amore!", Francis said in impatient, hungry tones, jumping up out of his seat to start pacing excitedly. There would be so many things to plan now. It had been only a matter of time of course. Francis had a sixth sense about these sort of things. It had taken America and England a lot longer than he had originally predicted but better late that never he guessed.

"What rubbish are you going on about now?! We don't have that kind of relationship!", Arthur sighed into the phone, wondering where this line of questioning was coming from or if Francis had somehow managed to become even stupider than he previously remembered.

On his side of the channel, the French nation was staring baffled at his stylish silver phone. "Angleterre….", Francis began slowly, trying to control himself in the face of such rampant idiocy, "What kind of 'relationship' do you have then?" The two nations were utterly ridiculous to him sometimes in their general ineffectiveness in matters of the heart. At times like this, he truly despaired for them.

"….An open one.", Arthur answered weakly, floundering in his own mixed feelings on the issue and doing nothing to alleviated Francis's fears.

"Oh really…an open relationship...hon, hon hon….", Francis chuckled, wondering if Arthur actually knew the meaning of the term.

"Belt up! I was drunk, you got lucky, it was over a century ago! Get over it!" Arthur growled, his slim fingers starting to crush the reinforced exterior of the phone. Alfred had had it specially made for him, complete with a Union Jack decal on the back of it, knowing intimately of the Brit's temper and inadvertent phone abuse.

"So if that iz ze case, have you been seeing others?", Francis asked, grinning widely. He knew when he had an Englishman in a bit of a spot. The Frenchman planned to make him wiggle a bit just for the simple joy of it.

"No of course not! What do you take me for!? Some sort of loose tart?!", Arthur snapped, taking the bait.

"Haz our dear Alfred?", Francis inquired, already knowing the answer.

"No….not to my knowledge..", Arthur answered hesitantly.

"Nor mine. He iz a zuch a loyal puppy dog.", Francis chuckled warmly into the receiver. It was a well known fact among all the nations who the superpower only had big blue eyes for.

"Why are we even talking about this! It can't be him because this is your stupid prank! I'll have you know, I don't appreciate the joke! I have other things to do than deal with your insipid nonsense.", Arthur said gruffly, losing his patience for the entire conversation. It was certainly not going in the direction he originally imagined.

"Ahhhh I zee….Your boyfriend for the better part of a zentury propozes to you… Oui, I can zee the mystery, the intrigue.", Francis said dryly, not even bothering to keep the note of the distain out of his voice.

"He didn't propose, you daft frog! I woke up with this damn ring on my finger!", Arthur yelled, thoroughly put out now. He was met with a moment of long silence from his old frenemy.

"…Really?…..", Francis asked, a bit in awe of the American if he had done what he was thinking.

"Yes, really! It doesn't scream Alfred, now does it?. Subtlety isn't exactly the lad's specialty after all.", Arthur countered though he was becoming less sure of it with every passing second. The ring was a lovely thing, aimed for his own personal preferences. Francis would have done something big and gaudy, like a diamond large enough to see from the moon, accompanied with buckets of rosebud petals and bad taste.

"That iz brilliant!", Francis happily yelled, blowing kisses to some nearby pictures of the American posing with his twin.

"Come again? What are you blathering on about now?", Arthur sighed, slumping deeper into his chair, his fingers toying with the ring in question.

"Do you not zee?! Have you not eyez, mon ami!? I am zo proud of him! I just knew zome of me would rub off on him!", Francis crowed, taking the picture off of the shelf to dance with the frame.

"Ye gods, one can certainly hope not. Stop spouted out rubbish and get on with it, frog.", Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose gingerly. He could practically hear Francis making an ass out of his self, gallivanting round his flat.

"It iz the perfect propozal for you! Do you not zee?!", Francis practically sang in his personal triumph, falling back into his settee at the end of his impromptu dance to prop up the picture of the twin on a nearby accent cushion, "You are not put on ze spot! He iz letting you decide in your obstinate, complex little English way!"

"Rubbish. I'm not stubborn.", Arthur sniffed, a bit miffed at the comment.

"You are about az flexible az zhat stick up your azz. We all know how oppozed you are to the change.", Francis snorted, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"I am not! Sod off you daft frog!", Arthur barked, not about to take barbs from the Frenchman lying down.

"Let me azk you zhis then…..Do your courtz still have to wear thoze ridiculous little wigz?", Francis smirked nastily, already tasting victory.

"That is tradition!", Arthur spat out defensively

"And provez my point! Our dear Alfred iz letting you decide in private. If he were to fall on the bended knee in ze public, you would run away, Oui?", Francis predicted correctly.

"I-I…", Arthur sputtered nonsensically as he tried to imagine it. He got quite red and flustered in his various attempts to visualize it though.

"You would! There iz no point in denying it!", Francis smiled widely, loving the feeling of being right as an Englishman stewed in his own issues, " Thiz way, you can simply take off ze ring and throw it into a drawer if you were not interested…..and that stupid."

Arthur found himself chewing at his nails with severe distaste, an old habit of his and one he had never been able to break. His forest eyes went back to matching stone in the ring, studying it again for what felt like the hundredth time today.

It was truly a lovely thing, an item of rare beauty and excellent craftsmanship. It was not some 'out of the case' item. This piece had been commissioned and planned out that much was evident. It even combined some of the most beloved symbols of himself-the rose, the oak, and even the lush green of the emerald. This of a craft of love and one of promise.

"Oh my God! Alfred proposed!", Arthur gasped, "To me!"

On his end, Francis was practically having a conniption, gesturing helplessly about him. Really, Arthur could be so slow on certain concepts, especially the ones that involved himself.

"Oui! Very good! Now that we are finally on the zame page….", Francis sighed heavily under the burden of being him only to find himself interrupted.

"Why would he go and do a stupid thing like that for?!", Arthur shrieked, jumping out of his chair so fast he practically knocked it over.

Francis slapped his forehead with an open palm, whispering a quick prayer for patience and with fools in love.

"I don't know rosbif. Perhaps he iz, I do not know, in love with you?", Francis said overly slow as he plucked petals off of a handy rose. He could hear Arthur making little random freaking out noises on the other end of the line. Francis almost wished he was there to witness it. Arthur truly undone was a rare and very funny sight, the nation usually the master of composed understatement. After a bit, Arthur regained enough of his self-control to babble into the phone.

"What do I do!? What the bloody hell do I do now!?", Arthur blathered, running nervous fingers through his hair. It didn't help. He could feel the cold metal of the ring on his scalp.

"Zay Yes?"

"AWWWWWW!"

"…Non then?"

"I can't possibly!"

"Pourquoi?"

"Because we are nations you daft twat! We have responsibilities! We don't marry!", Arthur snarled, clutching his phone tightly enough it started to crack, despite being made of tempered metal. Being angry at Francis was an old hat and a nice distraction from his current predicament though.

"Austria and Hungary would beg to differ with you. Poland and Lithuania for that matter az well.", Francis countered smoothly.

"That was all political! Alfred and I…."

"Zpecial Relationship.", Francis sang, merrily using the old term to his fullest advantage.

"You are never going to let me forget that.", Arthur grumbled, deflating a bit.

"Not when it haz such a charming ring to it though I have alwayz preferred 'lie back and think of England' perzonally.", Francis purred.

"Christ, you are such a bleeding pervert.", Arthur sighed. Despite everything, he started to chuckle. It quickly turned into a full blown out bout of laughter, bursting of real mirth. Francis stared down at his phone in surprise. Arthur rarely if ever laughed, more given to dry haughty chuckles or snorts of amused disgust. Francis could still count on two hands how many times he had heard Arthur laugh like this in all their history together, all 2000+ years.

"Anglete…Arthur, mon ami? Are you alright?", Francis asked hesitantly after a terse moment of silence following the Englishman's outburst, only occasionally broken by nervous spells of giggling.

"Hmm? Oh…sorry Francis…it's just…", "Arthur finally caught his breath, drying his eyes on his shirt sleeves, "It's just…..he asked me to marry him…."

"Yez, yez he did. Now ze question is, 'What will you do?", Francis asked, his curiosity practically killing him.

"None of your bloody damn business.", Arthur said calmly, ending the phone call with definite snap of his cell phone.

On the other end of the line, Francis stared at his phone in stunned disbelief. He spent the rest of the day cursing at it and the general cruel indecisiveness of Englishmen.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

Arthur settled back into his chair, ignoring his phone on purpose. The caller id kept coming up 'The Bloody Frog' anyway so in his opinion, it didn't really matter.

He kept cycling through several different stages, some of them very similar to death.

Denial of course- "This has to be a joke. It's Alfred after all. When is that prat ever serious?"

Anger- "How could he do this!? Things have been going so well! How could he even think about putting me through this, that sodding git!?"

Bargaining- "This could work, right? Better trade agreements…Stronger political bonds…If I say yes, it could mean a good deal all round for the both of us."

Depression- "This is all a big mistake. No one would want to ever marry a sour old thing like me. I'm blowing this all out of proportion. It's probably just a gift. I'm looking too deeply into this, desperate prat I am."

Acceptance…..with some….er...a lot of help from a bottle of rum- "Smart lad! I raised him right, I did! Good eye for the finer things in life and who can blame him. I am quite a catch!"

This repeated several times….with more bottles of alcohol to help him along…. until Arthur found himself praying to the porcelain gods quite fervently. Crawling up to the sink basin, Arthur hunched over it in a half hearted attempt to clean up, quite sober now having forcefully purged it from his guts and in a lot of pain from his head, heart, but most of all his stomach. He glared at the ring, blaming it for the entire ordeal. Arthur decided he wanted it off. Now.

He found, however, that the ring was actually quite well fitted to his finger and un-agreeable with him about its removal. Copious amounts of liquid soap was used to coax it off finally after a long struggle with it. Arthur glared at the piece of jewelry balefully about to chuck it into the bin just for the sake of it being out of his sight when something caught his eye. He ended up running, tumbling over his feet in his haste, to get to his study to look at it under a better source of light.

On the inside of the ring in its own golden sky were engraved stars studded in with tiny diamonds. They surrounded a line of words written out in flowing cursive.

A-Marry Me-A

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

"Alfred, as much as I love and adore your announced visits, was there an actual reason for this one?", Matthew sighed, burrowing his head into his arms on the kitchen counter, "Or do you just plan on continuing to freak me out by staring at your phone for another couple of hours?"

Alfred had arrived straight from England to his doorstep, full of nervous energy. Despite his seemingly endless reserve of it, the American kept himself in one chair in the Canadian's neat kitchen, getting up only occasionally to wear a hole in the floor from pacing in front of it. The entire time his eyes never strayed from his phone.

"Uh, um, no, yeah, maybe? What was the question?", Alfred spazzed mentally with an annoyed look, barely even glancing at his twin. The American yelped when his phone was plucked up off of the counter to swung precariously between Matthew's fingertips.

"Now that I have got your full attention hoser, what are you doing here, eh?", Matthew demanded, keeping the phone well out of reach.

"Heh-heh…just being awesome bro. C'mon, give me back my phone.", Alfred laughed weakly, debating on the pros and cons of tackling Matthew.

"Non! You are driving me nuts and making Kumanbuma nervous. Nervous polar bears pee on things. I don't like cleaning up pee.", Matthew complained, pointing to his incontinent animal companion who resided on the counter watching both nation curiously. "Who?", Kumajirou asked in self-defense.

"Apparently you gross bear. Seriously…..can I have my phone back now dude?", Alfred whined, his eyes never leaving the phone being held captive. It was sequestered to the depths of Matthew's pocket for safe keeping.

"Nothing doing! Talk. Now.", Matthew stated firmly, crossing his arms.

"I'm expecting a phone call.", Alfred explained, debating whether or not mugging his brother for his phone would be considered an international incident.

"Yeah, no shit. Are you and England fighting again?", Matthew huffed, glaring at a fidgeting American who was trying to look innocent and failing miserably.

"Not exactly….", Alfred trailed off, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. Matthew didn't look impressed by that answer.

"What's that supposed to mean? Al, what did you do now!?", Matthew sighed, moving to lock up his liquor cabinet, "Is England going to show up here drunk again?"

"Um…maybe. I don't know…..", Alfred mumbled, dry washing his hands uncertainly.

"AL!", Matthew snapped, fed up with the entire situation. He really wanted to know if a half naked Englishman was going to be coming through his door or not.

"I kinda…..kinda….sorta….maybe proposed!", Alfred blurted out. He gauged Matthew's reaction or lack there of, pressing his forefingers together in nervous little gestures. The Canadian stared back at him stunned.

"Oh. My. God.", Matthew said excitedly, "That's great! What did he say?!"

"I have no idea.", Alfred said without a doubt in his mind. He grinned uncertainly at his twin who was imitating a fish rather well at the moment.

"What…?", Matthew tried to mentally grasp at the concept, several scenarios running through his head. None of them were good.

"Well…I gave him the ring and flew here.", Alfred explained to him. He was met with a confused look.

"England….the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, our old keeper, that Arthur. He had absolutely nothing to say when you, you of all nations, gave him an engagement ring.", Matthew worked out slowly, really hating to have to ask the next question, "Why not?". The Canadian just knew he was going to hate the answer.

"He was asleep.", Alfred admitted, without an ounce of remorse or real understanding on his handsome face. He watched intrigued as Matthew stared up at his ceiling, making all sorts of faces at it while whispering in long, flowing streams of French. From what he could overhear, it sounded like an odd mixture of prayer and vivid cursing. Alfred jumped in surprise when Matthew turned about quickly to grip at his shoulders tightly.

"Al….", Matthew took a deep breathe, "You are an idiot."

"Huh?", came said idiot's response.

"Who proposes to someone who is still asleep and then runs away?", Matthew asked rhetorically, his bear looking up to add in its two cents, "Who?"

"Idiots that's who!", Matthew told him assertively, releasing his twin to shake his head at him. Alfred's eyes grew wide in sudden realization of his previous inept actions toward matrimony.

"Oh crap! Crappity, crap, crap, crap in a hat! What am I going to do?! I'm so fucked! Iggy is going to dump my ass! I'm so screwed and not in the fun way! Mattie, Mattie, Mattie! What am I going to do!?", Alfred babbled like a madman, getting a hold of Matthew to shake him within an inch of his life.

Both nations froze when they heard Urban Delights' 'Calling London', which was Alfred's ring tone for Arthur. The forgotten phone rang from the depths of Matthew's pocket, the Canadian's eyes going wide at the opening notes. Alfred had that look on his face, like something was about to happen and a concept as trivial as pants were not going to stop him.

"Al…hold on a sec…..let me… give me just a min…Awwwwww!", Matthew yelled as he was suddenly flipped head over heels, his pants the victim of the American's haste and super strength as the phone was forcefully recovered, "Maple…..I liked those….Why?!"

Alfred stared at the small vibrating device, frozen with a sudden, all recompensing fear as it merrily sang away.

"You had better answer that damn it!", Matthew yelled from the floor, debating whether of not his favorite pair of jeans could be saved or were destined for the bin. He would not let their murder be in vain though. Alfred took a deep breath, chanting his mantra, "I'm a hero, I'm a hero, I'm a…."

He expected an long and angry tirade full of English slurs and odd slang. He did not expect the long, tense silence that met him though.

"…..Arthur?", Alfred finally said in a small hopeless voice. He closed his eyes, anticipate the very worst. Arthur was pissed and was going to dump his ass. He was about to be kicked to the curb…..

"Yes." **click**

Alfred stared at the phone blankly.

"Al…..what did he say?", Matthew asked, picking himself off of the floor. He was happy he had decided to wear underwear today. His favorite maple leaf boxers had survived the assault. Alfred didn't answer his though. He ran out of the house, not even bothering with his luggage. His sneakers ate ground hungrily as Alfred ran toward the general direction of the airport, his excitement giving him wings.

His joyous shout could even be heard from within the depths of the house. Matthew smiled despite his loss of lucky jeans, finding his own phone is the remnants of his clothing. He was sure Francis would love to hear about this.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO

Arthur sat in his parlor, looking down fondly at his ring. He touched it with light fingertips, tracing the outline of the sparkling detail work.

It was only a matter of time now. Alfred would be here soon enough, the noisy American filling every nook and cranny simply with just his very existence.

Arthur smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

APH UsUkUs The Engagement

"Fuck all. We will just elope.", Arthur sighed, throwing a cushion at Alfred's head. The American ducked it good naturally, having gotten used to English projectiles a long time ago. He plopped down next to the sullen nation occupying most of the couch expansively in his sulk. Arthur refused to give up any space for the American to sit though, being the greedy old thing he was. He attempted to shove Alfred back into a corner of the furniture with his narrow, black socked feet. In the idea of the path of least resistance, Alfred retaliated by flopping forward to cover Arthur's body with his own larger one. He pushed his advantage even further, pulling up the Englishman's clothing quickly in the confusion of flailing limbs and general indignant squawking to reveal an expanse of creamy white skin. Alfred pressed his lips to Arthur's side, lingering over it….

…..to start blowing noisy bubbles into it, messily spraying spittle about. Arthur tried to curl up away from him but was pinned into place by the heavier nation. Alfred continued to tickle him mercilessly with Arthur squirming beneath him, occasionally shrieking in uncontained laughter.

Alfred only relented when he achieved his goal which was to reduce Arthur to a wiggly muddle of blushing skin, completely breathless with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Y-you….git!", Arthur gasped as he wiped his cheeks off, still laughing a bit. He made a face at the other blonde, upon feeling his rather moist side to wipe the spit off of it as he rearranged his clothing to impeccable neatness again.

"Your git.", Alfred said, pulling the Englishman into his lap, who grumbled and muttered threats darkly about being picked again. He smoothed his disgruntled lover by rubbing his shoulders, putting his strength to a far better use.

"Lucky me.", Arthur sniffed dryly, before relenting to massage, "Awwww….keep doing that." Arthur bit his lip, rolling a shoulder blade lower so that Alfred could work his talented fingers over it.

"Yes, your Highness.", Alfred murmured, chuckling softly into Arthur's pale hairline, breathing in his scent greedily, "Love you…marry me?". Alfred nibbled at a tender earlobe, humming softly to himself while doing it. Arthur turned his head to give him a smoldering 'over the shoulder' look with half lidded emerald eyes. Alfred's breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening in response.

"Only if we elope.", Arthur stated firmly, raising an impressive eyebrow at him. Alfred stared back in surprise before falling over laughing, taking the English nation with him.

"No! We have to have a ceremony!", Alfred chortled, finally releasing his fussy fiancé who was glaring daggers at him. Arthur moved away moodily to regard the amused American, his thick eyebrows knitting together in a severe expression.

"Why!?", Arthur wailed, crossing his arms in a huff. The obstinate action just made the other blonde grin wider at him and reach for him. Arthur found his own lap suddenly very full of eager nation embracing him tightly around his narrow waist. Alfred tried to hide his overwhelming exhilaration by burrowing his face into the crook of his lover's slim neck. He had been smiling so much lately his cheeks were starting to hurt, but he couldn't care less.

"Because I'm deeply and madly in love you and want to show you off to everyone! Is that a crime?", Alfred said somewhat muffled, rocking a bit in his excitement. Arthur would find the motion oddly soothing if he wasn't being crushed into the furniture. He was somewhat grateful for the awkward positioning though, his cheeks growing a distinct shade of scarlet from the American's fervent declaration of adoration.

"You're impossible! Wait a tick….what do you mean everyone?! I hope you don't really mean to invite the whole lot of nutters.", Arthur groaned even as he relented a bit, mostly for self distraction/preservation, by wrapping his arms around the energized nation on top of him, rubbing small circles into his lower back. Tanned skin felt warm beneath his cooler fingertips, Alfred's T-shirt riding up from over the top of his jeans. Arthur resisted the urge to delve deeper under the layers of cotton to caress at coiled muscles. He already knew how readily they would respond to his carnal whims.

"Sure! Why not?!", Alfred settled down, growing stiller under the gentle touch, leaning into it. His being was practically vibrating with barely contained glee. He had been on a natural high ever since Arthur had accepted his proposal.

"Alfred, I don't want a whole hullabaloo over this or one of your over the top ceremonies complete with loads of useless fireworks.", Arthur sighed into a crown of golden wheat hair, mentally debating with himself on how far to take this. He was distracted from the notion when Alfred titled his head with a puppy dog pouting face in place, complete with wide sky blue eyes and a trembling bottom lip.

"Hey! What's wrong with fireworks!?", Alfred sniffled dramatically, looking particularly wounded over the slight to his most cherished celebration entertainment. He was met with exasperated expression from the smaller blonde, Arthur rolling his clover orbs widely.

"Oh nothing, nothing at all if you don't mind being deaf and smelling burnt powder for hours on end.", Arthur mused, brushing locks of hair out of Alfred's face with a lingering touch. To his own personal amusement, the American's look only worsened as he slipped into the depths of despair. It was going well past the point of endearingly pathetic to just plain funny now.

"You're so mean!", Alfred whimpered, wondering if he could force out some tears for dramatic effect. It was hard for him though, trying not to laugh and all. It was an old argument, one that lacked any real bite after so many centuries. The Englishman's distaste for them had not improved over time, unfortunately due to Hong Kong's misuse of pyrotechnics in Arthur's presence…usually when he was napping or taking tea.

"Oh poor baby. I am just the biggest bully, aren't I, love? Not allowing your precious deafening explosives. How do you ever put up with it?", Arthur chuckled, pressing a kiss to Alfred's forehead in an overly tender gesture.

"It's not easy let me tell you. The marmite, the tea, the charcoal for breakfast…", Alfred changed tactics when it appeared that 'ole kicked pup dog' wasn't working, his sky blue eyes twinkling with teasing glee.

"You love my cooking you twit. Anyway, you had better get used to it. You are marrying it.", Arthur reminded, moving to get up having lost some the feeling in his legs, "Which reminds me, Francis and Matthew will be here soon. We have got to tidy up a bit and make the scones."

"Heroes are expected to make sacrifices for the greater good.", Alfred said, nodding solemnly. The silly grin he wore ruined the tone's sober effect though.

"Arse.", Arthur tossed over his shoulder, leaving for the kitchen. He trailed an American behind him closely though the other nation had no intention of helping out. It was simply to prevent the possibility of baking. They needed to actually talk with Francis, not have long hours of argument over the merits(or lack there of) of English cooking.

"You're marrying it.", Alfred warbled, seating himself at the kitchen table to start playing with the salt and pepper shakers. Like most of the things in Arthur's house, they were incredibly old and unique. The pair were made of sterling silver and crystal, shaped in the likeness of the connecting halves of an apple. They had always intrigued Alfred for some reason.

"Touché.", Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. He chose to ignore the American's inactivity and fiddling with condiments. Alfred tending to get in the way more often than naught in the kitchen in his opinion.

"I want to touche you all over.", Alfred grinned, putting the apple back together. He mentally debated if they had time for more interesting things or if Arthur would let him have some quick nookie before the other two nations arrived.

"Not with a line like that you're not.", Arthur snorted, nixing that lovely idea for him. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, debating on whether to start cleaning or cooking. A glance at the clock told him he didn't really have time for both.

"Meanie.", Alfred pouted, slumping in his chair. He amused himself by collecting all the napkin rings up to slide them on his fingers, blinging himself out with silver detailed with fox hunts and forest scenes.

"That's already been established poppet. Now please be a love and get the hell off of your arse. Your dear brother and the frog will be here soon enough and I believe I shall need some help.", Arthur ordered with hands on hips in an imperialistic stance.

"But we haven't made any decisions!", Alfred whined. He took a small revenge by darting out of his chair to steal the baking apron thus insuring the scones would be at least edible.

"Oh? I believe we are eloping.", Arthur scowled, retrieving his napkin rings before Alfred got flour encrusted in the details of them. It would take forever to clean them if that happened. Not letting the American get off light, he smacked the taller nation upside his head for emphasis. Arthur knew a slight, minor as it was, to his hidden(very well hidden-like bottom of the sea hidden) talent for the culinary arts.

"Iggy!" Alfred looked like he was almost ready to throw a tantrum. He directed his ire into the ingredients though while imagining what would happen if he made his 'mutant' scones(something Arthur liked to call them) flavoring them with pumpkin or pomegranate instead of the regular old boring kind. Or hot damn, Maple! Matthew was coming and Canadians loved maple flavored anything. Alfred gave himself a heroic pat on the back for his genius. He glanced up at Arthur to find him occupied with sorting out the cleaning products. Being super sneaky….or at least in his mind, Alfred started to assemble his devious plan of maple scone revenge.

Don't call me that.", Arthur said more out of habit that anything else, no real venom behind the retort. He remained happily unaware of the baking travesty that was occurring in his kitchen. For once, it was one not of it his own doing, "Well what do you suggest we do then?"

"Whatever we want!", Alfred said happily, sequestering the syrup into the batter. He danced over as he mixed it in, partially to hide his motives and partially because he was so giddy he needed to.

"Yes, very expressive.", Arthur rolled his eyes at his antics, ignoring the hip bumping his own jarringly, "It's not that simple Alfred. We are countries. There are rules."

"No, this isn't about that.", Alfred said suddenly very serious, setting down the bowl. Arthur looked up at him in surprise, caught by the somber tone. "This is about Alfred F. Jones marrying Arthur Kirkland. The rest is all just window dressing."

"That's a damn big window….", Arthur sighed, wanting to throw caution to the wind but still thinking better of it. Alfred made it seem so easy though sometimes. He found himself gathered up and pulled flush against his American's solid body.

"This is about you and me, babe and that is all that matters.", Alfred said in a low soft tone, pressing kisses into choppy golden locks.

"But what happens…..if…the worst…like…a war…", Arthur murmured, not wanting to voice the notion aloud, the dire possibility. It had happened before. As unlikely as it was now, it could happen again.

"We just don't worry about it!", Alfred leaned back far enough to grin down at the dour Englishman.

"Sodding hell, I'm marrying an idiot.", Arthur pulled a face, pushing back from Alfred. He found himself held fast to him though. Alfred swayed with him in his arms, close dancing with his fiancé to an unheard tune. Arthur let himself relax into the hold, enjoying the closeness of it.

"You and me. Alfred and Arthur. Not England and America. Just us. In love.", Alfred hummed in a low husky tone. He cupped Arthur's face to tilt his head upward toward him.

"Alfred….", Arthur whispered with a sigh as he closed his eyes, founding himself holding his breathe, feeling anticipation building up warmly. He felt lips pressed to his lids, feather light. Alfred's warm breath caressed them, sending little shivers down his spine. Arthur parted his lips, yearning for the touch of the other with every fiber of his being. He could sense Alfred hovering over them, their intimate connection just mere centimeters apart.

"So marry me.", Alfred breathed, giving the Englishman what he wanted, what he needed. He sealed his words with a sweet kiss, like a promise from the heart.

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"Zo what iz ze plan? Come, come now. I want all ze details, zordid or otherwise. Preferably zordid.", Francis leered, his perverted senses tingling. The pair in front of him practically oozed frequent sex.

"We are eloping.", Arthur deadpanned. The other nations jumped as Alfred faceplanted on the table noisily, making all the teacups jar from their saucers messily. The English nation tsked at the waste in tea.

"Igggggyyyyyy.", Alfred moaned, looking painfully up from his indentation in the furniture.

Arthur was all set to answer him(and admonish him for the damage to his antique oak parlor room table), but was halted when a very full glass of wine was tossed into the Englishman's face. He blinked back droplets of scarlet vino in surprise, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"Denied.", Francis stated calmly, refilling his glass from the bottle hidden at his side. Alfred managed to catch Arthur in time from flying across the table in a fit of rage. Francis didn't even so much as raise an eyebrow at his antics.

"I've been planning your wedding for over two zenturies. You are not doing zomething zo mundane az eloping. La, Ze nerve of ze English.", Francis sniffed haughtily as he sipped at his wine, totally unperturbed by the colorful death threats of bodily harm being directed at him. The pronouncement of French involvement in their affair brought Arthur up short though, Alfred joined his fiancé in staring at the Frenchman.

"T-two centuries! You're having me on!", Arthur managed to say first, being the more 'eloquent' of the two, "Complete bollocks! Why in the blue blazes did you try to marry me then if you have been so sharpish with my wedding plans?!".

"When did this happen!?", Alfred asked confused, looking back and forth from between the two ancient nations.

"For the love of Maple, it is common knowledge Al. Try paying attention to international affairs once in a while.", Matthew sighed, reaching across the table to pat at his brother's arm in a somewhat comforting manner. Kumajirou mimicked the action.

"Oh I plan to if this is what has been going on.", Alfred growled. He wondered how upset everyone would be at the next World Meeting if he 'accidentally' nuked Paris. After some consideration though and the fact that heroes didn't go around doing that sort of thing, the American decided to just re-name all his food again. Fuck Yeah, he was bringing Freedom Fries back.

"Oh zat? Who rememberz little thingz like zat, like random propozalz?", Francis shrugged, "Anyway it waz zimply for the money. I know you long for my touch, mon ami, but it is tres gauche, I am thinking, to bring it up in front of poor Amerique like zis."

"Y-yearn!? T-touch!? Y-you!?", Arthur screeched, "For what part!? The vapid attempts at conversation? The constant stream of perversion? The barest measure of social class? The persistent stink of cheap eau de toilette!?"

"Cheap!? You tasteless punk!? What would you know about taste much less class?!", Francis fumed at him, setting his wine glass with a resounding clink of crystal.

"You bloody snail sucker, I set the sodding international standard for it!", Arthur snapped back, slamming his teacup down with a clank of porcelain.

"Only after you ztole it from me for centuriez!", Francis growled, raising up slowly to brace himself over the table. The twins watched wide eyed with a definite touch of nostalgia as the terms of the battlefield were being set by the longtime opponents.

"Improved upon it you mean! Taking out all that tacky was always such a long and grueling process.", Arthur smirked nastily, matching Francis's stance. Alfred and Matthew moved back, trying to be quiet as possible to give them some room. It was a learned habit from first hand and sometimes hard won experience. Alfred had once gotten a nasty cut on his forehead from a wayward piece of flying furniture that had, at one point in time, been a lovely example of an Eduardian armchair. They took cover from behind a convenient settee, more than willing to sacrifice it for their own safety. Alfred had always hated the pattern on the furniture anyway.

"Hah! Liez! En Garde!", Francis yelled, chucking a Maple scone at Arthur's head, who ducked it. Matthew winced as it hit the wall behind them and the general Maple abuse. Alfred shrugged, picking the pieces up to start eating them. He shared them with Kumajirou as Matthew ignored them both with a look of disgust as he peeked over the settee carefully.

Arthur winged a biscuit back at the Frenchman in retaliation. Francis dodged, looking for a weapon of any kind. The parlor was inconveniently lacking in armament it seemed, though he was sure Arthur had weapons hidden somewhere in it. He threw barbs instead as he looked around, "You juzt made everything dry and horrible, like all your god forzaken cooking!"

"My cooking is good solid food that nurtured a world empire, not once but twice!", Arthur roared, finding some cutlery to duel with, a butter knife his weapon of choice only because it would take too long to get to the cutlass in the closet. It crossed necks with an ornately decorated sugar spoon wielded by the French nation.

"But of courze! They were looking for zomething decent to eat! I would zail half way across ze world az well under threat of your horrible puddingz.", Francis sneered, jumping over the table to press his advantage. Arthur moved smoothly out of the way, nimbly kicking a chair into the Frenchman's path.

"What's going on? I'm confused. Are we still talking about the wedding?", Alfred asked Matthew, tilting his head to the side like a sad puppy dog. His head was pat by his twin.

"It's ok Al. Just sit there and look pretty.", Matthew smiled softly at him, "They'll get tired of it soon enough." He winced at a particular loud crash of furniture, signaling the death of an innocent end table. Alfred felt the need for justice well up in him at its wooden demise. Matthew groaned to himself, sensing something incredibly stupid was about to occur.

"The hero shall prevail!", Alfred yelled, popping up from behind the settee to barrel roll over the top of the furniture. He landed neatly on his feet to easily flip the parlor table over…..along with the entire afternoon tea setup. The two older nations stopped their impromptu duel to give the American a mutual look of surprised disgust as the steaming brown liquid soaked into the woven area rug and pooled on the highly polished wooden floor. Kumajirou wiggled out of Matthew's arms, scooting across the room to snap up wayward Maple scones. The silence was broken as Matthew face palmed for his brother, Alfred too busy striking an epic stance of righteousness for all end tables everywhere to notice the tense atmosphere.

"Mon Dieu! Zavage! What ze hell iz wrong with you?!", Francis snapped, brushing his long hair back with a flip of his hand. He glared sourly down at the spilled wine mixing with the vile substance known as Earl Grey.

"Damn it Alfred! That was my good china! I'll have your guts for garters, you great pillock!", Arthur growled, throwing the butter knife at the American. Alfred caught it by the handle on reflex, flipping it casually from hand to hand. It did nothing to improve upon the Englishman's mood, "And you dumped out all the tea!"

"Wouldn't be the first time.", Alfred shrugged with a grin. Matthew quickly collected his bear, retreating with great care and quiet to the safety of the kitchen. He left feeling momentarily grateful for his natural invisibility and a little bad for Alfred. Matthew did not see this ending well for his twin.

"Har-har. Oh, aren't you a wit. Clean it up cheeky monkey.", Arthur snapped, "We'll finish up this business in the kitchen. You can join us when you decide to be civilized." Noses high up in the air, the two older European nations left, leaving behind a very baffled American.

"Who pissed in their cornflakes?", Alfred asked exasperatedly, setting the table upright again. Flipping tables always worked in his movies. Made for good cover too. To his surprise, Matthew didn't comment or offer to help. Alfred surveyed the room to find it empty, his ally already snuck off on him.

"Whatever.", Alfred grumbled, "Sneaky bastard. I am so going to steal all his syrup when I get back."

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Alfred joined the other nations in the kitchen, a new batch of tea already brewed between them on the counter, though Arthur and Matthew were the only ones partaking in it. Francis only deigned to drink wine, especially while on English soil.

"So have y'all come to any ground breaking decisions or are you going to start fighting with the spatulas?", Alfred drawled out, taking a seat next to Arthur while Matthew resumed his own by Francis. The Canadian didn't miss the look his twin gave him. Matthew made a mental note to return home as soon as possible. Last time Alfred as been annoyed with him, the American had kidnapped his favorite hockey jersey. It had been held hostage until an extreme pancake ransom over a period of several months had been paid.

"Piss off. We were actually talking about you…", Arthur started, making a point to make the chocolate biscuits away from the ravenous blonde.

"So that's why my heroic ears were burning.", Alfred grinned, interrupting as he pressed a kiss to Arthur's temple. He reached around him while the English nation was distracted to steal a cookie.

"…..and what abzurd idiot you are.", Francis finished for the Englishman who was understandably preoccupied at that moment.

"Fuck you Frenchie.", Alfred said pleasantly. He tried to pull Arthur into his lap and was kicked sharply in the shins for his efforts.

"Anytime.", Francis blew him a kiss. Alfred faked vomited, flipping Francis the bird, "Like I zaid, I have already planned out your wedding…."

"And that still send a sharp chilling pain up my spine every time I hear it.", Arthur grunted, glaring at his longtime frenemie.

"Oh pleaze, anyone with eyez and half of a brain knew it waz going to happen. Even your leaderz picked up on it before you, you inept bezotted baztard.", Francis mused, gesturing dramatically with his wine glass, "They knew you would make zuch a lovely bride."

"Bride!? Wait a bloody moment! Why the hell am I the bride?!", Arthur snapped, ignoring Alfred's snickering but not his shameless nicking of biscuits. He smacked a darting hand sharply with his spoon before returning his attention to Francis.

"Becauze the drezz I have made will not fit Amerique.", Francis informed the Englishman in a grand manner, revealing the designs for it from the depths of his coat pocket in a shower of intricate design and corseted layers.

"Dress!?", Arthur exploded, his eyes going hot and blind with rage as visions of loveliness fluttered before him. He barely registered the risqué poses his likeness was in.

"Mattie….any input?", Alfred asked casually as he kept a death grip on Arthur who was currently trying to reach for the Frenchman's neck with curled fingers. The Canadian considered it, batting away a persistent groping hand that cupped his buttocks, mostly out of old reflex, "I think you two should go tropical and get married on the beach." That was enough to make all the nation pause in thought, Arthur relaxing back into his seat.

"I like it! Sun, surf, and party!", Alfred grinned, giving his twin two thumbs up. He was so pleased by the idea, he almost considered calling off the abduction of all maple syrup from Matthew's home and every drop of it within a ten mile radius of the Canadian's house.

"We can honeymoon on the boat….", Arthur said thoughtfully, liking the idea more with every passing second. The idea of being back out at sea, especially alone with Alfred, was very appealing to him.

"You have a boat?", Alfred asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Arthur gave him 'A Look', one that clearly stated what he thought about that particular question.

"Yes poppet. I have a boat. Boats would be even more accurate. It is all a matter of which one.", Arthur said overly sweet and slow, like he was talking to a small child or a simpleton(though in his current opinion both).

"Really Amerique…even you muzt realize that rosbif iz an izland or would him having a boat make too much zenze even for you? What do you zink? He zwam?", Francis shook his head dismissively, looking unimpressed.

"Jeez, bitch, bitch, bitch! You don't like me to ever assume shit. I don't presume to think that you have a boat, much less a selection. That would be like thinking ole Francey-Pants has a vineyard and China has rice paddies.", Alfred groaned, flopping forward on the table haphazardly. Matthew barely saved his tea in time from being dumped into his lap by the careless American. To add insult to injury, Alfred flicked sugar cubes at Matthew, who glared back at him. Kumajirou was grateful for the sugary assault though, the polar bear gobbling up the incoming cubes. Alfred made a game out of it, one which Kumajirou happily played much to the Canadian's annoyance. Francis gave Alfred a sour look, shaking his head.

"I do. You have been to it you buffoon, and China has zeveral rice paddiez. Apparently he likez to grow his own hybridz.", Francis rolled his eyes, sighing in obvious disgust at the American's ignorance. Alfred laid off his game to pout at the older nations.

"You guys all suck!", Alfred grumped at them, feeling extremely picked on.

"Hon, hon, hon…", Francis waggled his eyebrows suggestively at him.

"Sod off.", Arthur intervened, "Francis's personal habits aside, a beach wedding sounds lovely."

"Oui, I believe I could make it work….." Francis said, scratching his chin beard in obvious deep thought.

"No dress.", Arthur stated firmly, glaring at the Frenchman over the rim of his cup.

"Awwwwwww…", Francis moaned, burying his face into Matthew's shoulder. The Canadian patted his shoulder awkwardly until he felt a questing hand travel down his back to caress his backside. Matthew sighed, shifting suddenly away to send Francis falling to the floor. His abrupt absence was ignored by the others.

"Ok….Now that we got the 'where', what about the 'who'?", Alfred asked, polishing off the last of the chocolate biscuits to start on the ginger snaps though Arthur insisted on calling them biscuits as well for whatever odd reason. They were so obviously cookies and not fluffy steaming biscuits of buttery goodness, but each to their own he reasoned.

"I presume just everyone who is in this room, love.", Arthur shrugged lightly, suddenly becoming very involved with his tea. He managed not to visibly cringe as the American's attention was directed upon him in full force.

"That's all?!", Alfred complained, giving his fiancé a reproachful look as he leaned heavily up against him.

"That is quite enough of that. If we start inviting others, it will just domino. You know that. As much as I would love to have a few more guests, I do not want to deal with a rabid pack of slighted nations. You know if we invite someone like say Norway, we will get the full Nordic set whether we want them there or not.", Arthur sniffed, knowing if Alfred had his way he would invite the entire world. ….quite literally. Alfred pouted at him in light of his coolly stated logic, looking over at his brother for support. The Canadian played with his bear's fluffy ears in defense. Alfred puffed his cheeks out in irritation at him.

"Whatever…Who's going to marry us then? A dolphin or a starfish? I vote starfish personally.", Alfred said sulkily. Kumajirou leaned forward in Matthew's arms to flick a long wet tongue across the American's pout. Alfred scrunched up his face, dragging an arm across it to mop up polar bear spit. "Ewwww….". Alfred reached over to grasp Kumajiou's snout with a firm hand, leaning in quickly to lick the bear's own coal black nose, "See how you like it."

"Ewwww….", the little bear whined, rubbing it soggy nose into Matthew's shirt sleeve.

"Maple…..If you are done violating my bear….", Matthew grimaced.

"He started it.", Alfred countered.

"….I suggest we ask…well, um….Prussia.", Matthew said softly, the tops of his cheeks gaining a delicate pink color at the albino nation's mention.

"Prussia?! Are you barking mad?", Arthur asked surprised, looking over at the nation concerned. He had heard a rumor from Alfred that the Canadian was sweet on the old warrior nation.

"Oui! It iz an excellent idea!", Francis smiled proudly at his adopted progeny. He was also hopeful that Matthew would come out of his shy shell to date his oldest friend. Francis loved it when a romantic plan came together.

"What!? I know he is an old drinking buddy of yours but I hardly see his merit in such matters. Next you will be suggesting that inept bastard Spain be my best man and Romano prance about as a flower girl.", Arthur shook his head, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

"He iz true neutral being a non nation of sorts now, mon ami, plus he was a priezt of his order for a very long time. He can marry you both az a nation and az a human.", Francis explained, defending his old comrade in arms.

"Plus you can pay him off with beer, eh.", Matthew added, smiling to himself. Alfred, not the most observant of nations at times, felt his brotherly senses tingling. He studied his neighbor and twin with a careful eye.

"How would you know that? Oh holy crap, you want to bone Prussia!", Alfred worked out for himself what everyone in the room had known for some time and in his usual classy manner. Matthew turned an deep shade of scarlet as he ducked his head, burying it in his bear's fur, "Dude, he is so creepy, like Francey Pants' creepy."

"Amerique…", Francis said reproachfully.

"Arthur, don't you have brothers to invite to this?", Matthew whispered in his embarrassed distress, throwing Arthur to the wolves.

"Absolutely not! Cor, It will be a travesty if they come!", Arthur snapped, his forest eyes going large and wild with the threat of his kin. To his own personal horror, Alfred looked intrigued though, even excited about it.

"But Mattie's going. Shouldn't the rest of the UK go? They are your family.", Alfred pressed. Arthur didn't talk about his brothers often. He had met them of course at meeting and in passing, but they had always seemed pleasant enough…..A little strange at times, but nice.

"It would be kind of zilly not too. They will find out zoon enough anyway, mon ami.", Francis mused, swirling his wine to catch the light.

"And I'm sure you'll be the one to tell them, you wanker.", Arthur grimaced, "No, no. I'm telling you, this is a disaster just waiting to happen."

"How bad could they be?", Alfred laughed nervously. He had never seen Arthur so skittish. The English nation looked like he was about to go through the ceiling at any sudden noise or movement, "C'mon, Scotland's nice."

"No, he's not.", Arthur growled out, glaring back at the American.

"Ummm, Wales is quiet at least.", Alfred winced, mentally reaching for names. Wales was one of the brothers, right?

"No, he's not.", Arthur sighed, getting suddenly very depressed. He would have to invite them…all of them. If he went off and got married without telling them, his family's revenge upon him would be all the worse for it. Alfred was coming to the same conclusions, finally remembering some of the more colorful stories he had heard about the brothers.

"…..Is Ireland still crazy?", Alfred asked uneasily, watching as Arthur slumped forward onto in arms to bury his head in their recesses.

"As a hatter.", Arthur groaned, suddenly feeling the need for a very stiff drink…..or several.

"We'll make it work, hun.", Alfred told him reassured or at least tried to. He was feeling less that confident about the whole thing now. Eloping was sounding pretty damn good now. A quick glance at Francis's keen expression made him forego that idea. They would never make it to the door in time.

"Heaven and Hell help us both.", Arthur muttered, pulling out a hipflask to tip of good dram into his remaining tea.

"Pessimist", Alfred teased, wondering how he was going to get the flask away from the English nation. It would all go downhill rather quickly if Arthur started drinking.

"Realist, love.", Arthur snorted, wondering if the booze in his flask was going to be enough.

"Cheer up! You make it zound az if you are planning your funeral and not your wedding. Family makez everything fun and more memorable.", Francis scolded, plucking the silver container neatly away from Arthur and almost losing his hand for doing so, tossing it to Matthew in self defense. Alfred kept the smaller man in his seat with minor effort, transferring the Brit to his lap as soon as he hopped up to strangle the French nation. Arthur relented only upon having his strengthened tea in hand again.

"Same difference.", Arthur glowered at them, glaring acid at them all over the rim of his cup, "It certainly will be memorable especially if Scotland decides to wear a kilt." He was softly shushed by Alfred who rubbed his back with a gentle touch.

"Hey, I've been wondering about that….", Alfred started to ask the age old question about the wearer of kilts.

"No, they don't.", Arthur snapped, having experienced the back view of the wearer of kilts more often enough in a mocking manner.

"Oh…..", Alfred mused, his mind wandered about coming up with the image of a drunk Arthur with a drunk Scotland…wearing a kilt. It wasn't a very pretty picture, Alfred blanching under his potential future.

"…"

"…"

"Maybe you're right…."


	3. Chapter 3

APH UsUkUs The Wedding

The Virgin Islands was spray of land floating in the Caribbean, set like jewels of land in crystal clear waters of alternating shades of vivid blues. White pristine beaches stretched out as far as the eye could see, backed by lush tropical jungles bursting with life and color. Not that two certain nations there appreciated it much less took notice of these world famous beaches, the epitome of vacation perfection. They were far too busy freaking out about their special event in their own unique little ways.

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The groom-Arthur and Matthew  
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"omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgo mgomgomgomgomgomgom…"

Alfred chanted, pacing back and forth in long, quick strides. Matthew wasn't sure how much more of it the floor could take. Alfred was mostly dressed in his black tux, the jacket to complete his full apparel still on the hanger. Apparently, realization of the situation had just decided to bitch slap the American who had been oddly stoic up to this point.

"omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgo mgomgomgomgomgomgom…"

Matthew groaned to himself. He couldn't take much more of that himself. Alfred seemed stuck in a loop. The Canadian caught his twin mid-stride by the shoulders to tweak his ahoge sharply.

"Awwwww! Bad Touch! BAD TOUCH!", Alfred yelped, his hands flying up to clutch at Nantucket protectively, "Why!?"

Matthew made a face as he rubbed his hands off on his dark dress slacks. "Sorey aboot that Al.", Matthew sighed deeply. It is not like he had wanted to do that. Touching his twin's erogenous zone was not too high on his list of 'Things I never wanted to do and live with myself'. Unfortunately, it was the quickest way to get Alfred's attention without the use of colorful explosives or banners. It also distracted him from current events at the same time.

"Dick!", Alfred hissed, pouting reproachfully at his brother. He soothed poor Nantucket while shooting a hurt glare at his twin.

"Hoser. Are you going to ever finish getting dressed?", Matthew asked, trying to keep their schedule roughly on track as he pointed to the ignored jacket.

"Who?", Kumajirou asked from the bed, pawing at the blue bow that Matthew had somehow managed to put on around his neck. He would never hear the end of it if Flying Mint Bunny saw it. The bear made a high noise of surprised distress as a whole lot of excited nation tackled him, rolling them both across the bed. Much to his dismay, Kumajirou found himself cuddled tightly by a hug enthusiast.

"Baby bear, Mattie's being mean and all pervy touching my no-no spots. How can I get married after I have been violated and made so impure?", Alfred complained loudly into soft white fur. Kumajirou ignored him, too busy trying to chew on his arm. The bear's little jaw were too small to fit around the American's toned bicep though.

"Kumapuma don't you dare slobber on that and when have you ever been pure, hoser!?", Matthew said, moving to loom over the pair. His bear was held up in front of his face by the American using the pet as a shield.

"You wouldn't hit a guy with a bear would you, buddy?", Alfred teased in falsely meek tones in a bad attempt at a Canadian accent.

"Who are you?", Kumajirou asked the pair, pushing his luck. He was bopped in the head by both nations before being taken away.

"It depends on the bear.", Matthew frowned down at his animal companion, "And I'm not your buddy, pal."

"I'm not your pal, friend.", Alfred started only to have his vital regions ball tapped.

"No, stop it...we are not going to do that, thank you very much. Now get dressed.", Matthew ordered, pointing to the last part of the suit again. His twin responded by falling over, clutching his abused sack.

"Yes sir, Maple leader sir!", Alfred yelped as soon as he was able to breathe again from his fetal position, "As soon as Florida recovers, sir!"

"Why are you being so difficult aboot this? I thought you wanted to marry England!", Matthew snapped, kicking Alfred lightly in the butt with his socked foot so the nation would hurry up and get the hell over it, "And quit being such a baby. I didn't do it that hard."

"Dude, what is the problem with you and my no-no spots?", Alfred grumbled, getting up gingerly.

"You mean besides the fact you call them that?', Matthew rubbed soothing little circles into his temples, the threat of a stress headache imminent. It didn't help that Alfred started to pat his shoulder in a comforting manner. Kumajirou imitated him with the other. Matthew didn't appreciate the tag teaming, knowing that the bear was still bitter about the forced bow round his neck.

"It's okay. I blame France for his icky influence on you and who could really blame you for wanting to touch me in the first place. It's kinda sick and twisted but I'll still love you even if you are into incest…but not that way. My heart belongs to Arthur and you gotta learn to accept that, bro.", Alfred told him in a patronizing tone as Matthew felt his cheeks catch fire. The Canadian stared back at him in stunned disbelief.

"What in Maple are you talking aboot, eh?!", Matthew yelled as Alfred wandered off to shrug into his jacket.

"Ummmm, the fact you have stolen my innocence twice in less that ten minutes. Duh.", Alfred shook his head sadly, "I'm just letting you know I forgive and accept you, cause I'm all heroically supportive like that.".

"Would you please, please just finish getting ready for your wedding, m'k? Please?", Matthew practically begged. He shoved his face into Kumajirou's fur to hide his burning face. Really! Alfred could be such a pervy asshole sometimes! Matthew blamed Francis. He didn't know how or why. He just knew it. Alfred laughed loudly in response, checking out his apparel in the mirror.

Suit of sexy goodness? Check!

Amber waves of grain in place except for Nantucket? Check!

Texas behaving itself for once? Check!

"Good to go bro!", Alfred grinned, throwing two thumbs up at his now exhausted and slightly depressed kin. Matthew nodded weakly back, the pair moving toward the door. Alfred paused though, turning to face Matthew with an odd expression on his face.

"Mattie…", Alfred said, his tone strangely soft.

"Yes Al?", Matthew asked warily. Had they forgotten something? He had been meticulous about setting out everything and keeping Alfred on his schedule despite some rather ridiculous roadblocks.

"Thanks…..for everything.", Alfred smiled, brushing Matthew's wavy bangs aside to press a kiss to his forehead. Matthew relaxed, returning the loving gesture.

"Anytime hoser."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
Meanwhile…the bride..*cough*the other groom*cough*  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

Arthur checked his snowy white suit for what felt like the hundredth time in last hour. The fact he was wearing such a pale suit was driving him positively mad. He was now in the habit of taking a lint brush to the material every five minutes or so it seemed. Arthur had even refrained from having any tea or any other staining drink just in case a drop of the brown brew should fall upon it. Earl Grey withdrawal was doing terrible things to his psyche at the moment.

His worries, notions, and sudden onset of obsessive compulsive behavior was utterly ridiculous, of course, Arthur realized as he glared at his reflection. His hair was refusing to cooperate as per usual, the choppy locks sticking out where they liked. Even his eyebrows seemed to be in on it, the treacherous furry bastards. Arthur sighed, expecting nothing less from them actually. He had made tentative peace with various parts of his hair centuries ago. It didn't mean he liked to be reminded of it though by anyone.

"Bugger it. At least the suit looks posh enough.", Arthur grumbled, flicking imaginary dust off of his shoulder. He had originally not wanted a white suit, the traditional color marking him as the bride. Alfred had been a right git about it though, insisting upon it. It had not helped matters that Feliciano and Romano had made a gorgeous creation, claiming it was inspired by his flag's colors. The shell and pants of the garment were made of a pristine brushed white silk, deliciously soft to the touch. His vest was a rough matted raw silk, dyed a bright scarlet. The outfit was finished with a patterned tie based on his St. George flag and a pair of white Italian leather dress shoes. His tiepin and cufflinks were depictions of roses delicately wrought in bright white gold and accented with white diamonds and rubies.

Despite the splendid caliber of the gift, Arthur had been ready to nix the whole thing entirely….  
…until Alfred had come out of the dressing room. The damnable Italians twins had dressed the tall American in rich black, all inky in its fathomless color and very plush looking. His vest was made of a contrasting shiny black satin spangling with understated silver star design, looking like midnight on holiday. Instead of a tie, he wore a cravat, the flowing piece of silk a shade of blue just a touch darker than his own sky blue eyes. It was held in place with a tiepin made of a ruby the size of a quail's egg. It was a subtle play on Alfred's flag colors and shapes, paired with the white dress shirt and star shaped cufflinks. "What do you think?", the giant git had nervously asked him, turning around slowly to be seen at all his lovely angles. What did he think? If the others hadn't been there, Alfred would have been out of the suit and on his hands and knees in under ten seconds flat, panting and begging for it.

Arthur had always scoffed at the blonde's title 'America the Beautiful' but not for the reasons one would assume. He always thought it should have been 'America the deliciously fuckable', but it didn't exactly roll off of the tongue. Long story short, the end result from it all was that the white suit picked out for him had stayed. He could live with that especially if he had Alfred in black all to himself as his consolation prize when everything was all said and done.

The fact that Arthur was looking into a mirror at the time was the only thing that saved him, the English nation launched himself smoothly to the side to roll out of the way. His brothers landed in a messy heap in his previously occupied space to glare up at him.

"What are ya playin' at?!", Scotland growled, getting up with a lot more dignity than most could have managed in a similar situation.

"I believe I should be the one asking you lot that!", Arthur snapped, keeping his back safely to the wall as he edged toward the door.

"Us!? Why we are just lookin' in on our wee baby bairn.", Ireland giggled. He really couldn't help it. The split island nation was quite mad, the ancient Celtic being a strange mixture of conflicting land and people. Ireland shooed away the worried fairies that hovered around his head, grinning widely up at Arthur. The English nation debated internally with himself if Ireland even knew where he was or what he was here for. He didn't look particularly cognizant today. Wales smacked the back of his head soundly, resetting the crazy for them all.

"Aye. Come to do ya a solid, we have.", Wales chuckled, catching Scotland's subtle signal to go left as he went right. Arthur caught it to, deciding it would be best if he just made a break for it.

It was a good plan. This was one of the reasons he had survived for so long to rule over his kin. It all boiled down to one simple concept really.

Arthur was one hell of a quick bastard.

General survival and constant escape had made the English nation swift and agile, being able to climb trees and run along their limbs as nimble as any squirrel at a moment's notice. Couple that with an accumulated several hundred years at sea with balancing on narrow masts and delicate riggings, and you have a nation who is very light on his feet. What Arthur didn't account for though was that Wale's red dragon was sleeping in the doorway. Arthur tripped magnificently over the slumbering reptile to face plant into the floor. He was dragged kicking and screaming back into the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
Meanwhile on the beach…  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

"omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgo mgomgomgomgomgomgom…"

Alfred was working on making sand into glass, the blonde resuming his nervous pacing, kicking up loose granules in his quake. Arthur had not shown up yet…..or for that matter any of his brothers as well. Alfred was starting to get a bad feeling about it.

"omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgo mgomgomgomgomgomgom…"

"Oh Maple, not again.", Matthew sighed, adjusting his suit with an irritable gesture. He was really starting to sweat under the tropical sun. He risked a glance over at Prussia, the older nation appeared to be very uncomfortable in his own full length dark vestments. The ancient garments seemed odd paired with slick modern shades. Matthew couldn't help but notice how ethereal they made the Prussian look. Snow white skin practically glowed against the dark rough fabric, his face and hands the only skin showing. His hair sparkled bright sterling silver in the sun's light and his eyes were fiery garnets peeking over the dark frames….looking right back at him.

Matthew blushed darkly, dropping his gaze. It didn't help that the Prussian suddenly leaned up against him heavily, panting in his ear. Matthew could feel his cheeks burning up to new shades of red and it wasn't from the island's heat as colorful nighttime activities vividly filled his headspace.

"Mein Gott, it's hot. How long are we going to wait for the brow bastard?", Gilbert complained, hooking his finger into his collar in a vain attempt to cool himself, "Cause albinos and the sun don't really mix, you feel me?"

Matthew dry swallowed hard, definitely sensing the outline of the Prussian's toned body pressing up against him. "Oh….I want to feel you alright.", Matthew thought, biting his bottom lip to keep from saying anything lewd. He was grateful that France's influence didn't reach him that deeply. Matthew gasped when the Prussian ran his thumb across the tortured nibbled flesh.

"Prussia!", Matthew eeped, jumping back in surprise.

"Call me Gilbert, birdie.", Gilbert smirked, "Nasty habit. You better stop doing that.".

"S-sure….I'll keep that in mind.", Matthew stammered, imagining Prussia….Gilbert….nibbling on it for him…..and many other tender places.

"Could you two stop eye fucking each other long enough to focus?", Alfred said dryly, causing the Prussian to glare back and the Canadian melt in shame, "Francis left over a half an hour ago to go find Arthur and still hasn't come back.".

"Francis! Yes Francis!", Matthew jumped, embarrassed beyond words partially because Gilbert only grinned wider not denying the American's words. He wasn't either though. The Prussian looked even more sexy to him while smirking dirty wearing his cloak and cross.

"You don't think Artie got cold feet do you?", Alfred fretted, his eyes nervously dancing along the beach's horizon for any sign of his fiancé and/or his family.

"Oh Al…..I'm sure….", Matthew began. He was interrupted by one of the missing nations in question.

"We are all ready! Zo zorry for ze delay!", Francis sang out, dancing across the sand in his obvious glee.

"Delay?", Alfred asked, his answer being carted out on the shoulders of the Celtic brothers to the tune of loud singing. It was sung in an ancient form of Gaelic, but it sounded like a bar song of sorts, the tune of which fairly emitting filth. Arthur was being carried somewhat carefully, though not out of affection. The English nation was struggling every inch of the way with failing limbs, hard fists, and sharp heels. Colorful commentary was an added bonus.

Arthur was placed, i.e. dumped/thrown, in front of Alfred. The American stared down at a very unhappy Englishman wearing…

…a dress.

"You bastards!", Arthur roared, chucking his bouquet at his laughing brothers. The enraged nation was wearing a form fitting corset top styled bridal gown, leaving the creamy skin of his back, shoulders, and arms bare. Alfred wondered briefly how his brothers had managed to get him into it. (He found out later that Ireland had sat on his legs while Wales held onto his arms. Scotland had done all the dirty work, cutting off the suit to shimmy the dress on and tighten it up. He had gotten bit by Arthur several times for his troubles)

"Do ya like yur weddin' gift, laddie?", Scotland asked, lighting a cigar to blow blue grey smoke down at his younger brother. Arthur threw sand back at him with a glare.

Alfred blinked at the Scot in confusion. "Wedding gift?", he asked, not liking were this was going. Arthur looked ready to pop. If it wasn't for the 6inch stilettos strapped onto his feet and sand underneath them, he would be up and swinging by now.

"Aye. Me and the lads were sittin' round wonderin'-What do ya get the nation who has everthin'?", Scotland grinned, gesturing with his cigar.

"You wankers! How dare you?! This is my wedding!", Arthur snapped, the backs of his heels sinking deeply into the loose earth as he tried to stand. He ended up throwing himself off balance. Arthur flopped back into the sand to Francis's horror after the vain attempt to get up.

"What do you zink you are doing!? Zat iz zilk, you bourgeois heathen!", Francis groaned, moving to pick the nation up out of the sand. He was repelled back by angrily thrown seashells. In the flinging frenzy, Alfred noticed that Arthur was wearing makeup to compliment his new look, made up artfully with bright red lipstick, smokey eyeshadow, and more than a little rogue. It explained why Francis had taken so long getting back. The brothers just answered with a group shrug, looking vaguely bored.

"You lot ruin everything!", Arthur told them before turning back to Alfred, "You see why I didn't want to invite them now?!"

"Oi, ya don't have ta be all English about it. I mean, who wears a bleedin' suit to tha beach anyway?", Wales huffed, Ireland nodding along with his statement. Or least it looked that way. For all Wales knew, Ireland could have been bopping along to some music in his own head.

"The English?", Kumajirou answered to be met with several varying degrees of death glares.

"Not helping.", Matthew muttered, wondering if he could tie the bow around the polar bear's muzzle in time to save them both.

While Arthur argued with the rest of the Celtics, Alfred took the opportunity to take in the situation. Arthur looked upset, really upset actually. He also looked very cute in yards of soft, flowing silk. The gown fitted him like a glove, accenting curves that were not usually there. Alfred wondered to himself if Francis had added padding to it. It wouldn't surprise him if the French nation had. Knowing Arthur as intimately as he did, Alfred doubted his suit had survived the encounter with the brothers' and Francis's assault. It was ultimately up to him to fix this entire pickle, the American being the hero and all.

"Ok people! Break it up!", Alfred yelled, smacking his hands together sharply. He could really get a grand capacity with his voice, his buoyant bellowing causing all of the others to jump at its sheer volume alone. Everyone fell into stunned silence. Alfred struck a triumphant pose, laughing his head off from his small victory.

"Well what now, git? Are you going to say anything of importance or just come off as a sodding prat as per usual?", Arthur growled up at his fiancé. Alfred resisted pouting back at him. He had his heroic mission to complete and it was his patriotic duty to save the day despite a sulky, cross dressed English nation with a sharp tongue. Alfred did the first thing that came to his mind. He started to strip.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing?!", Arthur gaped as Alfred removed his cravat and coat, winging both articles of clothing carelessly over his shoulder. Kumajirou perked up considerably as the material hit the sand, catching on more quickly than the others. He attacked his bow with renewed vigor.

"I don't know, but I am loving where zis iz going.", Francis leered, watching closely as Alfred shed his dress shirt in record time to reveal broad strong shoulders, a muscular chest and chiseled abs. Francis ended up eating sand for his troubles, Arthur deftly catching the French nation by the collar to face plant him into the depths of the beach.

"Ya puttin' on a show foe us then?", Scotland asked, raising a thick crimson eyebrow at the half naked American. Wales wolf whistled his approval, smirking as Arthur started to blush, looking befuddled at the sudden turn of events. On his part, Ireland was currently chatting up some seagulls having lost the vein of conversation(and reality for that matter) a while back.

Alfred just grinned back at everyone, taking long strides across the sand toward their hotel. The nations had rented out the entire hotel and beach for privacy but Alfred was sure he could convince someone to open the gift shop for them. He grabbed Matthew by the arm along the way, practically dragging the Canadian behind him. "Everyone stay put. We'll be right back!", Alfred yelled, pulling his twin's ear to mouth level to start whispering into it. Matthew brightened up considerably as the American revealed his plan, nodding occasionally. Arthur watched them in dismay as the twins started to race across the sand.

"I will remind you I'm still in a sodding dress!", Arthur shouted bitterly after them, making one last attempt to stand up and regain some of his shattered dignity. Both were dashed as he tipped over again, falling back in a heap of silk and fluffy taffeta.

"And it looks fabulous on you babe! Hang tight!", Alfred yelled, throwing two thumbs up at Arthur as he ran off.

"Cheeky bugger.", Arthur grumbled, taking off his heels to throw them at Francis's sandy head.  
-

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO

Alfred and Matthew returned to find the brothers tied up tightly in the remains of Arthur's wedding dress, looking slightly dazed and disheveled. The English nation had somehow managed to get the drop on them. Wearing only his boxers, a stripped Arthur was currently chasing after Francis, threatening to ring his neck with his veil. Apparently even Scotland hadn't had it in him to redress the English vital regions. Alfred didn't know whether to feel pleased about that or very worried. He was not surprised though by the turn of events, expecting nothing less from his former tenacious keeper and ex-pirate. There was a reason(a lot of them actually) why Arthur had been so loathed and feared for centuries.

"Oh Maple, it looks like he is gaining on Papa.", Matthew murmured, tapping his mouth worriedly with his knuckles as he looked around at the sandy carnage. He located Gilbert easily enough leaning up against a palm tree, smoking. The Prussian was watching all the antics with the definite amused air of someone uninvolved and not in danger of being injured. Alfred waited until Francis ran by with Arthur hot on his heels to grab his 'bride' around the waist, lifting him easily off of the ground. He leaned in to steal a kiss and was soundly smacked over the head for his efforts

"Ow.", Alfred complained, giving Arthur a hurt look. The other looked back at him totally unrepentant.

"Blast! I almost had him, damn it!", Arthur swore, struggling against the firm grip on him. He suddenly became quite aware of the great amount of bare skin, all tanned and sun warmed, pressed up against his own. He quickly looked down at the nation holding him.

"Why are you wearing short shorts?", Arthur asked in a direct flat tone, raising a bushy eyebrow at him. He glanced over at Matthew who was also wearing swimwear, clad in bright red long board shorts. Kumajirou had managed to chew off his bow it seemed as well, the remnants of the decoration dangling limply from the bear's jaw.

"No suits.", Alfred chirped, tossing bags at the various nations. Matthew kept himself busy by untying the Celtics. They inspected the contents, revealing more colorful swimwear. Wales and Ireland stripped down immediately, not being shy nations in the least. Wales pulled on red shorts with a distressed white dragon pattern on them while Ireland showed off some rather showy metallic green shorts that shimmered in the sunlight. Scotland, however, merely pulled off his dress shirt and toed out of his socks and shoes. The Scotsman was left wearing only his kilt.

"No need, laddie.", Scotland grinned, lighting a cigar with a crooked grin. Matthew was about to give Francis his own outfit only to see the amorous nation was already quite naked save for his signature rose in place.

"How do you do that so quickly?", Matthew asked curiously. He was sure that the Frenchman had been in a full suit and tie not just a second ago. Francis opened his mouth to have a pale hand slapped securely over the orifice.

"Nein.", Gilbert said firmly, shaking his head. Gilbird flew off of it irritably to land on Matthew's own, nesting down in the wavy locks smugly. Matthew was too busy trying to look up at the small bird to notice Gilbert flipping the middle finger at his pet.

"But….", Matthew started to ask, missing the gesture entirely, even as it was returned by the small yellow bird.

"Nein. You are better off not knowing some things birdie. Believe me." Gilbert muttered, giving Francis a warning look of awesome ass kicking for good measure. He released the Frenchman to look into his own offered bag…..that and Francis was starting to lick his fingers. He looked up in surprised question at the Canadian.

"Flaming skulls?", the pale nation asked curiously, holding up a pair of black board shorts with a vivid pattern on it.

"Oui.", Matthew blushed, trying to look in every direction except for the former nation's.

"Why?…."

"Because when you think Prussia, you think flaming skulls! Awesome, right?!", Alfred supplied helpfully. It dawned on Gilbert who had made the selection, shooting a look over at Matthew for a clue to the American's reasoning. He was answered with a shake of a blonde head, the Canadian not getting it either.

Arthur inspected his outfit warily which turned out, very much to his relief, to be a pair of plain white shorts with red stripes down either side. They were much longer than the ones Alfred had chosen to wear.

"I stuck to your theme.", Alfred said, looking hopeful and vulnerable all at once.

"And those…..", Arthur nodded to the bright blue short shorts with yellow side striped that Alfred was sporting.

"I have a cute ass.", Alfred shrugged, smiling in relief that Arthur wasn't objecting to his idea.

"You mean a fat ass to go along with your fat head.", Arthur grumbled, moving behind a convenient palm tree to change. He was a gentleman after all.

"Boo. So mean.", Alfred pouted, trying to sneak a peek to have boxers thrown at his head. Arthur revealed himself a moment later, fully clad in the swimwear with his arms crossed. Alfred smiled sheepishly at him from beneath the underwear he wore now.

"Looking good babe.", Alfred grinned. Arthur shrugged, looking away from him blushing lightly. The American's expression a fell a bit, his confidence in the plan shaking. Arthur still didn't look exceptionally thrilled. If anything, he looked annoyed, more so that usual. Alfred bit his bottom lip worriedly. "You still want to do this?", he asked worriedly.

Arthur looked up at Alfred in surprise, blinking wide. He ran nervous fingers through his short hair, sighing. Arthur decided ruefully that he was letting his cross and very stubborn disposition get in the way of things again, just like it had so many times before. Now the love of his long life was looking at him with a scared, worried expression, one that did not suit him at all and asking him if he wanting to still get married. If Arthur could have kicked his own ass, he would have done so for causing it so needlessly. Like Alfred had said, it was all just window dressing. This was about them and nothing else.

A chuckle escaped his tight lips blooming into full laughter, tense stress leaking from his being visibly. Alfred relaxed at the sound, his shoulders slumping in sudden relief. Arthur smiled up at him, "Let's crack on then." He leaned up against the American for a kiss to be met with a finger being pressed to the middle of his forehead stopping the action. Arthur glared at him questioningly.

"You might want to wash your face off first though, babe.", Alfred snorted, his sky blue eyes twinkling as he studied Francis's careful makeup job. It was a testament to the French nation's talents the fact he had been able to apply it so aptly to his struggling victim. Arthur's emerald eyes grew wide for a moment, staring back. He broke it off with a dash toward the beach diving into the sea, fluid in his swift grace.

Arthur emerged clean a short time later, covered in streaming rivulets of salt water. Crystal like beads clung to the English nation's pale skin and gold hair like liquid diamonds. Striding toward the American, he glittered under the sun. Alfred stared at his every movement and fell in love all over again, watching his lover meet him face to face, lacing their fingers together.

Alfred drew Arthur close to him, pulling them together flush. Arthur's hands reached up to cup his face tenderly, drawing him down toward him. They met lip to lip, tasting each other deeply as the pair fought for dominance with pressed flesh. Alfred's hands wandered freely over Arthur's torso, eventually trailing down to play with the hem of the white shorts. His fingers dipped below the barrier to graze hidden soft skin. Arthur responded by grinding up against him, swallowing Alfred's moan as he won the battle for control.

"Um…..so did you still want to get married or are you just going to screw on the beach? I don't think the wino will mind, but it might scar Birdie.", Gilbert drawled out slowly, blatant amusement coloring his smoke roughened voice. He watched as the two nation froze mid-smooch, suddenly remembering that they were not alone. Eyes in shades of green and blue slid to their corners to see all the nations staring at them with an interesting array of expressions. Ireland grinned like a cat on crack, laying on his belly in the sand to lean up on his folded hands. Scotland and Francis both leered openly at them. Matthew was carefully studying some passing clouds and failing to notice Gilbert sidling up next to him. Wales was face palming, blushing for all of them darkly. Alfred and Arthur grew a shade of scarlet to match him. They started to separate stiffly, careful not to look at each other which was hard considering they were still in each other's arms. Alfred changed his mind though, renewing his grip to look furiously back at them all.

"Yeah. Let's do this.", Alfred broke out into a wide grin, pressing a kiss to the crown of Arthur's head, the Brit nodding in agreement with him. Gilbert nodded, moving to stand in front of them with an odd air of authority.

"Ok…..do you want the long version or the short version?", Gilbert asked, sneezing out of boredom. Wedding made some people cry while it made others bored as all hell. The Prussian fell in the later category, but he did like the power that came from his position, brief as it was.

"Make it sharpish and quit mucking about.", Arthur snapped, his glare daring Gilbert to say anything.

"Are you sure?", Gilbert snickered, just to be a pain in the ass. Matthew opened his mouth to reprimand him, but Kumajirou beat him to the punch, biting the Prussian in the ass. The engaged pair were less than sympathetic, Alfred giving the bear a thumbs up while Arthur smirked haughtily as the Prussian flailed about clutching his behind.

"Sweet shite, yes. Get on with it already, you daft ponce.", Arthur sniffed dryly. Gilbert glared intense scarlet at him, muttering death threats against certain polar bears in German as he took his place in front of the couple again.

"Do you?", Gilbert asked Alfred, who looked back in surprise at the sudden question. He wasn't caught off guard for long though.

"Fuck yeah!", Alfred yelled, freeing an arm to fist pump. Arthur rolled his eyes, shaking his head in mild disgust.

"Git.", Arthur muttered under his breath. Alfred continued to grin his fool head off. The expression caught though, a smile playing on the English nation's lips. Snapping fingers in his face brought Arthur's attention back to the Prussian.

"Stay with me. Fuck him later.", Gilbert smirked, "Do you?"

"Yes, yes, of course.", Arthur said irritably, before gasping a little at his hasty answer. He had meant it to be a lot more romantic than that flippant reply. Arthur groaned inwardly at himself, risking a glance up at Alfred. He was met with a blinding expression of pure love and adoration instead of the disappointed one he had been expecting. He started to mumbled an apology when fingers were pressed to his lips, Alfred shaking his head. "Don't ever change, babe.", he whispered. Arthur felt tears start to well up in his eyes.

"Oh of the love of Gott, can we just finish this?", Gilbert growled, glaring at the pair.

"Whatever. Wrap it up already, snow globe.", Alfred shrugged, already bored and wanting to get on to the next part, the one where he and Arthur were naked together in bed or on the floor or wherever they happened to end up.

"Fucking fantastic. If anyone knows why these two should not wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.", Gilbert said in uninterested tones, to be answered with an intake of breathes, "That was fucking rhetorical Arschlöcher. I sure no one feels like being nuked in the next few minutes."

"With the power invested in me by whoever is available, I pronounce you two idiots ball and chain. Congrats, cheers, ich gratuliere, mazal tov, etc…", Gilbert rolled his eyes, finishing quickly to leave the two nations staring at each other wide eyed.

"Kesesesesese….You can kiss now.", Gilbert smirked. Alfred yelped in surprise as Arthur jumped onto him, wrapping his slender arms around a tanned neck to smash their lips together. The shift in sudden weight caused them to fall over into the sand. Neither of them noticed.

As Alfred and Arthur were rapidly become indecent, and the brothers and Francis started to take bets on who was going to top, a certain Prussian, whose duties were done, edged closer to a very uncomfortable Canadian who had taken to carefully studying the cloud cover again.

"Hey….Do you have any Prussian in you?", Gilbert asked, poking Matthew in the shoulder to get him attention. Matthew rubbed his head, over thinking the ridiculous question entirely.

"Um…Not that I recall really. A few I suppose, but it has been a while though. I tend to have more Asians cultures immigrate to my…", Matthew started to answer.

"Would you like some in you?", Gilbert interrupted, cutting to the chase.

"…"

"…"

"Wow…..just wow….That was…..", Matthew said a touch breathlessly, in awe of the overwhelming dreadfulness of the come on.

"Awesome?", Gilbert finished for him…incorrectly.

"Non, I'm pretty sure that that was one of the most awful pickup lines I have ever heard and that is saying something considering Francis and Arthur were the ones who raised me.", Matthew corrected, giving him a look of dismayed disgust in return, "In fact I think you should never repeat that to anyone again…..ever. Not if you ever want to get laid again."

"You would be surprised how often it has worked for me.", Gilbert countered, a little crestfallen but still trying.

"Yes, yes I would. Be very surprised and a little sad and maybe even a little bit worried that there are that many desperate and/or stupid people out there in the world.", Matthew said with a sad shake of his fair head, starting to walk down the strip of white beach. He was pretty sure his presence would not be needed for a while if his brother's state of undress was any indication. Gilbert followed after him, looking a bit miffed and a touch worried.

"Shut up. You know you love it.", Gilbert grumbled, glancing over at the Canadian to find him blushing lightly at his words. Matthew hugged his cub tighter to him.

"….Oui…..", Matthew whispered, his soft words almost lost entirely to the ocean breeze. Gilbert nearly tripped over his feet, stunned by the short reply. He easily caught up, grinning widely. He bumped Matthew's shoulder with his own playfully to get his full attention.

"You didn't answer the question.", Gilbert snickered, his ruby eyes dancing with certain victory and unhidden delight.

"Mon Dieu….."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO  
Some time later…  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO

Arthur excused himself to go get some 'proper' clothing on, as he put it, the setting sun casting dying red light across the seaside, painting everything in fiery shades. The moment the English nation was out of sight, Alfred sent Matthew a very pointed look, the Canadian nodding back at him. The North American twins rushed the Celtic brothers, Matthew grabbing Wales as Alfred scooped up Ireland to fling the nations far out into the sun warmed ocean with their superstrength. Before they could react properly, Francis and Scotland found themselves in very similar situations.

"Wha do ya think yur doin'?", Scotland yelled, struggling against Alfred's iron grip on him, the Scot being held high overhead.

"You made Iggy upset. You really shouldn't have done that. No hard feeling though. Nothing personal.", Alfred told him happily with a wide grin.

"But we're family now! Doesn't tha count for anythin'?", Scotland tried to reason with his captor as the beach and more importantly the water's edge were becoming rapidly into view.

"Sure it does! That is why we are tossing you to the next island and not into the middle of the ocean. Enjoy the swim, haggis humper!", Alfred told him cheerfully, throwing the Scot clear across the water to the next spit of land.

"Yooooooouuuu foooooooocccckkkkeerrrrr!"

"Mathieu, you would not be zo crazz az to throw your own poor papa into ze zea, would you?", Francis begged, looking down pleadingly at his former charge. Matthew shook his head forlornly at him.

"Je suis désolé, Papa. You really should not have insisted on the dress. It was Arthur's wedding, not yours.", Matthew explained gently. Francis sighed in defeat.

"I understand. Good luck with Gilbo.", Francis smiled, blowing Matthew a kiss as he was released into the air.

"Bon voyage."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO

Francis surfaced the jewel toned water to find himself near the edges of a deserted island, the waves pushing him conveniently toward its shores and three irritated and mostly naked nations. Francis emerged gracefully from the sea like Venus herself, minus the giant seashell.

"Hon, hon, hon…." Francis chuckled, smirking at Scotland who was trying to shake the salt water out of his Zippo with limited success, "Zo much lovelinezz, zo little time."

Scotland raised a bushy scarlet eyebrow at him with an answering smirk, tossing the ruined lighter over his bare shoulder.

"Oh ya think so, do ya? Well I'm telling' ya now, I'm toppin'."


End file.
